


Seeing Red

by FiddleStixx



Category: The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Gonna drop this shit like #LEMONADE, Gonna follow the whole movie, Mars, Mpreg, Other, Post Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6709897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiddleStixx/pseuds/FiddleStixx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn't all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn't go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection...but Mark Watney won't settle for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You know what they say: A comment is worth a thousand kudos!

**N.A.S.A.**

DATA ENTRY: **WATNEY** , Mark

DATE: 02/10/2020

_I suppose you could say you’ve heard this story before. I mean, somebody would have told it, maybe abridged it, added some fake stuff. That’s people's jobs after all. But the truth usually comes out after a while. Which is what is happening right now._

_My name is Mark Watney and...and I survived for a year in the half on the most barren planet in the universe the human race has managed to find...Mars. Mars was my home for a year and an half, still to this day, I get recruits at NASA who’ve heard of me asking how I managed not to go mad on a planet with nothing._

_Truth is, I didn’t go mad, because by the time I left Mars, it didn’t have nothing, but something. I grew potatoes, yes, but I don’t mean that. I mean something different, something you wouldn’t believe. That’s why I’m writing this, to tell you what really happened for that year and a half that I was stuck on that wasteland for. I hope you’re ready._


	2. Sol #18 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn't all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn't go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection...but Mark Watney won't settle for that. (Based on the book and movie 'The Martian' by Andy Weir)

_ The real story begins almost...four, five years ago? Ugh, I’ve lost track of time. That’s what happens when you reach my age. I’m pretty sure it was 6, however, counting the year I was on Mars for, so I’m going to roll with it.  _

_ Six years ago, I was a botanist with a great (sometimes rather annoying) crew named Ares III, the third group of astronauts named after a proposal for an unmanned spacecraft back in the 2000’s, made up of me, my Commander and our geologist, Melissa Lewis, my closet (yes, like actual closet, nobody knew.) boyfriend, Major (at the time, he isn’t anymore) Rick Martinez (I call him ‘Ricky’ to piss him off).  _

_ There was also our pilot, Beth Johanssen (nee Beck, she goes by that now), our systems operator, Dr. Chris Beck (the unformentioned nee), flight surgeon, and Dr. Alex Vogel, our navigator and chemist, to round it out. (I guess he goes by Herr Vogel now, I could be wrong. Him and his wife just had their 4th baby, a boy.) _

_ Anyway, all the trouble started while we were collecting samples and doing our duties for the sol (I would have said day, but Mars days are known as Sol’s, so I’ll stick with that). At the time, most of us were outside, while Johanssen and Beck were inside, Beck testing samples, Johanssen doing her job. _

 

**Sol #18, Acidalia Planitia, 2015**

 

“All right, team -” I heard Commander Lewis speak from my com radio. I felt we had to keep them on because we needed to hear eachother, though at the time, I also thought we could at least turn them off in the HAB as we were only a foot away from eachother half the time, but decided against it. “- stay in sight of each other. Let’s make NASA proud today.”

“How it’s looking over there, Watney?” Rick asked, a worried in his voice plainly heard over the com. I knew he couldn’t help it. Ever since I came of the Hermes ship for the start of the mission, I had been rather sick. Some days, it got so bad I even had to run to the toilet to vomit. I assumed Commander Louis that I was alright, luckily, I didn’t want to cancel the ground mission just because of a stomach bug.

I responded after a moment. “Well, you’ll be happy to hear that in Grid Section 14-28, the particles were predominantly course, but in 29, they’re much finer and they should be ideal for chem analysis.”

“Oh, wow. Did everybody hear that? Mark just discovered dirt.” Rick geered back, worried tone masked over to me and everyone else with a smirk in his tone as he laughed. “Should we alert the media?”

“Sorry, what are you doing today, Martinez?” I called back, a smirk of my own in place. “Making sure the MAV is still upright?”

“I’d like you to know that visual inspection of the equipment is imperative to mission success.” I chuckled at the frown I heard as he went on. “I also would like to report that the MAV is still upright.”

I heard an exasperated sigh come from the left part of my com before Commander Lewis spoke up. “Watney, you keep leaving your channel open, which leads to Martinez responding, which leads to all of us listening, which leads to me, being very annoyed.”   
  
“Roger that.” I said, rolling my eyes out of view before speaking again. “Martinez, the captain would like you to please, shut your smart mouth.” 

I heard laughter from Martinez, a goal of mine I usually filled every day, before I overheard Beck speaking via the com from inside the HAB. “We’d prefer to use a different objective to describe Martinez’s mouth.” I laughed at Beck’s sentence. It was true, Rick was smart, no word of a lie, but myself and I think everyone else could think of other words. Me mostly, however, since on Hermes unknown to everyone else, we’d shared a bed several times.

“Oh, did Beck just insult me?” Martinez questioned jokingly to me. “Dr. Beck and yes.” I chuckled back. “I’m happy to turn the radios off from here, Commander.” Johanssen chimed in. Party pooper. “Just say the word.”

“Wait, Johanssen.” I butted in. “Constant communication is the hallmark of -” “Shut ‘em off.” I heard Commander Lewis interrupt before my radio started beeping and hissed to a stop. “No. No. Excuse me!”

Anyway, afterwards, because I was now forced to go back to work, when I saw my surroundings darken. ‘Must be almost time to go inside…’ I thought to myself. However, when Vogel came to fetch me, I had no idea what was coming. I was the last one inside the HAB after I’d hung up my space suit to hear what  the Commander was saying. “1,200 kilometers in diameter, bearing 24.41 degrees.” 

Shit, a storm and a big one by the looks of the data NASA sent. “That’s tracking right towards us.” Johanssen spoke up as the Commander started speaking again. “Based on current escalation, estimated force of 8, 600 newtons.”

“What’s the abort force?” I asked. We had work to finish her for a while, I mean, Sol 18 into 31 wasn’t bad, but we still had a lot to finish down here before going back up to Hermes. “7,500.” Beck piped up from behind the group crowded around the computer.

“Anything more than that and the MAV could tip.” I heard Rick over the radio. I almost felt worried that he was out there with all that equipment that the winds caused by the storm could topple over and kill him, but this was his job, he’d trained for this, so I let it go.

“Do we scrub?” Vogel asked from beside my Commander, he was standing on her left, I was standing on her right, Beck was behind her, Johanssen in front. “Begin abort procedure.” Commander Lewis nodded, but then Vogel spoke again. “We are estimating with a margin of error. We could wait it out.”

“Let’s wait it out.” I agreed with Vogel. We’d had storms before, maybe not this bad, but we’d waited them out. It wasn’t so bad, a lot of noise and the generator in the HAB flickered on and off sometimes, but that was about all the problems. “Let’s wait it out.”

Everyone including my commander looked at me before she looked back down and everyone looked at her, including myself. “Commander?” Johanssen gently probed, blinking at her as she looked up. Finally after some silence, she spoke. “Prep emergency departure.” She called out as she started to walk away. I wasn’t happy with this development at all. “Commander?”   
  
“We’re scrubbed. That’s an order.” She called back before I could protest. Damn her.

Unhappily, I started to get my shit together everyone started to prepare to go back to Hermes, putting my suit and falling in line with the rest of the crew as we were led to the airlock by Commander Lewis.   
  
“Visibility is almost zero.” Lewis finally spoke as I closed the airlock behind me to allow us to leave though the on in front. “Anyone gets lost, hone in on my sult’s telemetry.” Lewis pressed a few buttons and the oxygen drained out of the airlock with a hiss before she called out. “You ready?”

“Ready.” We called out as she turned the value, exposing us to the storm outside. Just as she opened it, a large gust of strong wind knocked her down as she held onto the door, pinning her to the ground and us to the walls or at least, it felt that way.

“Commander, are you okay?” I called out over by now turned on com.

“I’m okay.” She responded by, sounding pained. Hopefully, it was just bruising or the small shock from how strong the storm was. She had taken quite a fall after all.

Whoever was in front of me, possibly Vogel or Beck, helped the Commander to her feet and we pushed though, getting out of the airlock and into the storm. Little did we know what was going to happen once we left that door and started toward the MAV.

The wind howled like a thousand military whistles as I locked the airlock back up as I was last in line. Martinez had been in the military before coming here, so I was a little versed in their actions from what he told me, also from my training in the Peace Corps. 

Anyway, I finally managed to turn the valve and stagger away with the helmet lights on like the others towards the MAV, not able to see them very well in the swirling around us, but still, I tried to keep up.

“Commander, - “ I heard my super secret boyfriend over the line as we trudged through the storm, barely able to hear him. “- we’re at 10 degrees, and the MAV is gonna tip at 12.3.”

Well, shit, we most likely wouldn’t make it before it tripped over by the looks of it. Looking around however in the flashes of lighting, I got an idea. “Hey! We might be able to keep the MAV from tipping!”   
  
“How?” Commander Lewis called out as loud as she could over the com.

“Use the cables from the comms mast as guy-lines, anchor it with the Rover’s.” I called back. 

Just before we could put our plan into action,  I heard a metal bang before I got a blow to the stomach out of nowhere. Something had hit me and I’d gone flying. I screamed as loud as I could, but it wasn’t enough. Then, I felt myself hit the ground and something scream out that wasn’t me, or so I think, before a white hot pain coursed through me.

  
The pain was so intense that I couldn’t keep conscious. After that, it went black.


	3. Sol #18 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn't all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn't go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection...but Mark Watney won't settle for that. (Based on the book and movie 'The Martian' by Andy Weir)

_ So, after my not so graceful landing and subsequent blackout, unbeknownst to me, my ‘death’ was being announced on live television by NASA. My mother apparently dropped my father's dinner on the ground when the press conference aired and just cried, my Dad holding her while trying to clog himself.  _

_ Also, my closet boyfriend was balling his eyes out on Hermes as he told everyone of our relationship, that I was more than just a really close friend. It took a lot for him to come out like that, I know because he told me when we got back to Earth. _

_ As I was saying before I get too off topic, I don’t know how long I lied in the ground for or how long it had been since the storm, but I was thrust back to the living world once again when I heard an alarm going off… _

 

**Sol #18, Acidalia Planitia, 2015**

 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I suddenly woke up from the darkness startled and in pain, breathing heavily as the pain it seemed, was dragging my breathing ability down. Then, I heard my suit spring to life. “Oxygen level critical.” The annoying robotic voice talked out. No wonder my lungs weren’t working the greatest, they had nothing to breathe.

I had to get back to the HAB and fast.

I started to raise myself up from Mars’s sand like surface I had been buried in with a bit of difficulty, as it was both painful and hard anyway because the surface not being exactly grippable, but I managed. Boy, did it hurt like hell.

I found out why it hurt so bad soon enough after I managed to get into a position where I was able to stop the beeping warning system in my suit. There was something sticking out of my stomach. It was sharp, made of metal and implanted rather well in a really painful spot, so pulling it out here was out of the question.

Groaning, I pulled myself off the ground, gritting my teeth and panting, before yelling out and sinking to my knees as whatever was sticking out of me, was attached to the nearby communications satellite that must have hit me and sent me spiraling away from the MAV.

Shit. I knew I had to cut it or otherwise, I would most likely have to take the satellite with me and judging by the pain already coursing through me from my last attempt, I really do not want to.

I looked around to find something that could cut it and found a chunk of debris stuck in my suit’s belt and thankfully, not piercing the skin or the suit itself unlike the probe that seemed as long as Martinez’s member stuck in me. ( _That did actually happen one time on Hermes, but we don’t mention that. It was a really werid experience._ ) Quickly, I cut the metal line connecting my flesh and the satellite, gasping for breath as I stood, wanting nothing more than to be sick and couldn’t.

The satellite must have thrown me quite far as when I looked around at first, I didn’t see much ‘life’, but then, I spotted the HAB in the distance. Jackpot. Staggering, I clutched the metal spear in my side as I headed in the direction of the HAB desperately, slipping a couple of times from exertion and pain.

By the time I managed to walk the distance from where I landed to the HAB, I was sweating bullets from how bad the pain was. Around me, most of the communications equipment had been either blown away or broken from the storm. I would have to check the state of everything after going inside the HAB ( _if I could_ ) and fixing myself ( _that would be first on the list_ ).

After identifying myself via the outside lock, I crossed in my fingers and even my toes in my mind and turned the valve with all I had left. Luckily for me, it opened as soon as I touched it. The pain was getting worse, obviously this thing was in quite deep, so the wound would be as well. It needed out, now.

I went inside the airlock and quickly closed the door and locked it, listening as a hiss came out of the vents and oxygen flowed in. As soon as the annoying voice that was in my suit as well as the HAB called out “Pressure stable.”, I staggered towards the airlock door that went from here to inside the HAB itself.

Locking the door behind me, I raced against time to take off my suit to get this metal thing out. If it stayed in any longer, it just might kill me from exposure, septicemia, infection, a whole number of things! ( _Unbeknownst to me at the time, I wasn’t the only one in danger that day, but that’ll come later._ )

I quickly unclipped and took off my helmet, then my bio-monitor and my gloves, before taking off my my head cover. Now came the hard part. Breathing in several times really fast, I went and yanked the metal rod out of my body. Thankfully, no one was in the HAB to hear me yell out or run to me when I doubled over.

Quickly, as I felt blood trickling out of the wound now the rod was free, I stripped off my ruined EVA suit and left it on the ground with everything else as I went to the medical supplies. You see, the HAB had been stocked with medical supplies in case shit happened, so Thank God, but it was usually Beck who used them and not me, but I knew my way around thankfully.

I quickly dove into a box and grabbed out some medical scissors and started to cut away my shirt I was wearing under my shirt, looking down and almost gasping at the large wound the rod left in me. Ouch.

Keeping my hand pressed over it to stem the blood flow, I used my other hand and my teeth to rip a bunch of gauze out of a plastic packet ( _thanks NASA, really, for making my job more hard_ ) and stuffed it into the wound, gathering up the rest of the tools I needed and moving towards the small medical area Beck had set up ages ago in case. Sitting in the chair, I leaned back to expose the wound to the light so I could see it in the mirror beside me and so I could operate on myself. I couldn’t leave the wound open after all.

I cleaned the top of it with the now rather bloody gauze before I reached over and grabbed a portable anesthetic used for treating people. Breathing heavy, I stabbed it around the wound multiple times to numb it despite the pain that came everytime I did. My stomach was already slightly swollen from the wound itself, so I needed to be fast. ( _In retrospect, I should have seen this as a sign that something else was wrong with me, other than me being impaled, but I didn’t._ )

I grabbed the nearby forceps I’d gotten with me as when I was injecting myself, I’d felt something still inside the wound and I didn’t want to leave it there. Holding the hole open as steadily as I could, I reached and managed to pull out the last bit of the rod ( _which I now suspected was an aerial from the satellite_ ) and just stared at it for a moment before I remembered what I was doing.

Putting it down, including the forceps around it, I grabbed the medical stapler and painfully started to fix myself up into relatively normal shape ( _Little did I know that soon, I wouldn’t and afterwards, would never, retain my ‘normal’ shape again, but I had hope for that span of time before it was challenged_ ).

It was by now, after most of the pain had subsided, that I realized I was stuck here. Mark Watney, botanist, joker, annoyance, had no crew to rely on and no way to get home. That meant I was stuck here without being able to communicate with NASA or at least, by the looks of it. “...Fuck.”


	4. Sol #19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn't all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn't go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection...but Mark Watney won't settle for that. (Based on the book and movie 'The Martian' by Andy Weir)

_By the time night fell and Sol #18 turned into Sol #19, I felt like shit. I’d spent the rest of the light puking from the pain and rolling about in my bunk trying to sleep._

_When that hadn’t worked, I’d just gone to walking around the HAB like a zombie wrapped in a blanket. Looking at myself in passing as I sat inside the HAB Journal chair all those years ago, I wasn’t too far off._

 

HABjournal

**LOGIN**

**USER:** mark.watney  
  
**PASSWORD:** ********

 

“Okay.” I breathed in before I spoke to the log entry camera, voice rather crackly from non-use or screaming in pain earlier. “Hello, this is Mark Watney, astronaut. I’m entering this log for the record...in case I don’t make it.” I looked to the side as I spoke to find the time so I could state it for the log. “It is 06:53 on Sol #19 and I’m alive, obviously.” I breathed back in before I spoke again. “But I’m guessing that’s gonna come as a surprise to my crewmates and to NASA and to the entire world really, so…” I hesitated for a moment before smiling a little. “Surprise.”

I got myself under control before I started laughing at my luck, it would hurt more than heal right now. “I did not die on Sol #18. Best I can figure - “ I held up the aerial in the light for the camera. “- this length of our primary communications antenna broke off and tore through my bio-monitor and ripped a hole in me as well.”

I paused for a moment as the lights flicked before continuing. “But the antenna and the blood, really, managed to seal the breach in my suit which kept me alive, even though the crew must have thought I was dead.”

Then, I got to the bad bit. I didn’t want to hear myself say it, but I had to. “ I have no way to contact NASA and, even if I could, it’s gonna be four years until a manned mission can reach me - ”

I looked around me as I kept speaking. “-and I’m in a HAB designed to last 31 days. If the oxygenator breaks, I’m gonna suffocate. If the water reclaimer breaks, I’ll die of thirst. If the HAB breaches, I’m just gonna, kind of...implode. -” I shook my head, I didn’t want to think about it. “ - and if by some miracle, none of that happens, eventually I’m gonna run out of food.”

There. I had just listed all of the potential problems I’m going to have in this place. Great. I don’t even have a chance.

“So -” I continued before I finished lamely. “- yeah. Yeah.” I breathed in again, thinking about it all in my head as I was staring down this tiny camera, this tiny, piece of shit equipment that was worth millions of dollars, taping my fate. I couldn’t stand to look at it any longer and logged off.

Curling up in a seat beside a small hatch as the wind picked up outside [obviously the makings of another, but less powerful storm] and started to eat a ration, feeling a little sick as I was monitoring the HAB’s status. Eventually, after falling asleep sitting up, I decided I needed to find something to do. So, in my wisdom, I decided to clean the HAB as I healed.  
  
I boxed up Johanssen's stuff and possessions from her bunk before moving onto Beck’s, then Vogel’s and lastly, Commander Lewis’s. I didn’t mean to be nosy, but I looked through her photos. They were mostly of her, her husband, her son and the crew, before I put them away sadly and shut the lid, effectively removing my team from around me and stored the containers away on the bottom bunk where I used to sleep.

 _(I consider myself lucky and unlucky that I thought of this strategy early on. It was lucky because I soon wouldn’t be able to sleep on that bunk anyway, but unlucky because I usually had to reach down on a daily basis to take stuff out to entertain myself and put it back in. It became a chore after a while, I hated it._ )

Looking out the window, I couldn’t help but think about my death. What would it be? Dehydration? Suffocation? Starvation? Implosion? Suicide? I didn’t know. But there was a thought in the back of my mind, one that was determined to make it to the front and be screamed loud and clear, driving all the other ones away. So I made a vow on Sol #19.

 

“I’m not gonna die here.”


	5. Sol #21 (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn’t all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn’t go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection…but Mark Watney won’t settle for that. (Based on the book and movie ‘The Martian’ by Andy Weir)

_So, there I was. A 30 year old guy of average build, on an uninhabited planet, all alone and barely able to survive. I didn’t think, after the antenna and the wound and the almost dead thing and being left behind, that it couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong.  
  
After spending the night and subsequent 20th unaccounted for Sol retching in the toilet from the pain in my stomach that hadn’t settled like it should have in the time that had passed, I was exhausted, nervous and suspecting that I might have an infection, but I just brushed it off, I would know if I was really sick.   
  
Putting it back down to the wound I had aquired 3 Sols earlier (as wounds could totally mess you up), I started to tally up what I had in Hub. It’s survival of the fittest up here after all…_  
  
Okay, so, I’m stranded here. No biggie, right? All I have to do is make enough food to survive here for four years. There in lies the problem. I know I don’t have enough supplies.  
  
Here is what I got so far after adding everything I pulled out of the cupboards up.  
  
 **BREAKFAST:**  
  
Eggs x 50 = 42  
Pancakes x 50 = 36  
Porridge x 50 = 36  
Sausage & Baked Beans x 50 = 36  
Muesli x 50 = 42  
French Toast x 50 = 42  
  
 **LUNCH:**  
  
Mac & Cheese x 50 = 42  
Beef Goulash x 50 = 42  
Meatballs in Tomato Sauce x 50 = 36  
Vegetable Soup x 50 = 36  
  
 **DINNER:**  
  
Beef Stew w/ Noodles x 50 = 35  
Sweet & Sour Chicken x 50 = 44  
Beef Teriyaki x 50 = 44  
Meatloaf x 50 = 52  
Vegetable Stew x 50 = 34  
Teriyaki x 50 = 34  
Meatloaf w/ Vegetables x 50 = 56  
  
After making my calculations, I was putting the last box away, when I felt the need to go to the can. Usually, i wouldn’t make a big fuss about this, but this was when my body decided to clue me in about what was going on with me.  As I went to flush, the analysis screen came up and my results were blinking in red. Concerned, I touched my name on the screen,  
  
“Astronaut Watney has an excess of hCG in his sample, beyond the normal range for his person.” The robotic voice droned out.  
  
Ah, hCG, my old friend. Time for a biology lesson. Well, hCG or Human chorionic gonadotropin as fancy, scientific people including myself say, is a hormone that is produced if you’re ovulating, pregnant or have specific types of cancers. As for me, I have it in my system, as I have something called Zoriha’s Disorder.   
  
Now, you may not have heard of it, it’s actually quite common for people around my age and older. How I got it was purely by fault. Back in the 60’s and 70’s, some of the thousands of medications used had a compound called Zorihadol, hence the name. If a woman took it while she was pregnant or within six months of getting pregnant, it would cause a genetic mutation in both male and female fetuses.   
  
However, while the females got it rather easy ( _well okay, I take that back now. It was not easy, but it just wasn’t as bad_ ), as they only ended up as what is now classified as ‘flipper babies’ from the disorder, a male fetus’s chromosomes would end up mutating, causing the baby to be born with both male sexual and somehow, hidden sexual female organs.  
  
Now, I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, Mark, isn’t that just Hermaphroditism in too many words?’ Actually, no. You know why? Because, Hermaphroditism is a natural mutation, not a made one like Zoriha’s. Also, while one half of the sex organ is formed and it doesn’t work at least, by study, 80% of the time. Zoriha’s Disorder is different. It gives you fully formed sex organs and they both work. Seriously. So, rise in hCG levels as a bit concerning, but not too bad.  
  
However, when I tapped onto the screen to bring up and read the test results, I was a little alarmed over just how high they were. Usually, a woman’s body produces less than 5 milli-international units per millilitre when not pregnant, but it increases when they are. Before I came onto Mars, my hCG levels were below 5 milli-international units per millilitre, as normal, but suddenly, they seemingly increased and jumped to 50 milli-international units per millilitre.  
  
Now, I know I didn’t have cancer. I as sure of it. I’d never smoked, never taken drugs, I used to drink a lot, but I stopped when I needed to focus in college. That could only mean one thing, but...I couldn’t be...could I?  
  
I palmed my hand to my stomach as my gut twisted in fear before I raced over to the containers. Surely, if Johanssen and Commander Lewis had feminine hygiene products, they would, in their strange opposite sex way, carry a pregnancy test to ease panic. I mean, what girl didn’t?  
  
However, turns out while Johanssen is one of those girls who doesn’t [I should have predicted that], Commander Lewis was. Considering she already had a son, I guess you couldn’t be too careful. Swallowing the bile in my throat, I pissed on the tiny, pink stick before placing it on the kitchen counter and waited.  
  
About an hour later, of agonizing pacing, the time of judgement had arrived. Breathing in and out for several moments, I leaned over to look.  
  
Two very visible, very pink lines. Oh god. No, no. Jesus fucking Christ Mark, what have you done?  
  
I slid down the wall behind me in shock, a hand on my stomach that, if things were really happening and my eyes weren’t playing a trick on me from exhaustion or another factor, was holding something that should not have been there. What was I going to do?!  
  
I’m stuck on a planet, with no one to help me and I’m...I’m pregnant. I’m so screwed.  
  
This baby couldn’t survive this, there was no way. With my rations and the recommended intake I was supposed to have, there wouldn’t be enough food to keep it growing. Also, the wound I got had hit almost exactly where the baby would be positioned right about now, as judging by the levels in my feces, I’m was a month along at least.   
  
Oh god, I might have damaged it, it might be retarded or worse, have a disorder. I didn’t want to think about it, but the more I did, the most resilient I became. No. No, I was not going to die here and this baby, this thing with little arms and legs wriggling about inside of me, was not going to die either.  
  
Now, it was true that Martinez loved babies. Hell, he had a 6 year old son from a one night stand in college that he still talked to and saw on weekends. I had met him on a few occasions and we’d became fast friends. I loved that kid as much as I loved Rick. So, killing this baby was out of the question. It was a part of me and Martinez that had somehow survived, like a root growing from the ground up...wait, root?  
  
That’s it! A root! Potatoes! Wasn’t there a resupply sent over for Thanksgiving?  
  
Quickly pulling myself out of the shock I was in, I rushed as best I could to the food lockers, finding the container easily. To my absolute glee, there were loads of them all wrapped in plastic for Thanksgiving dinner. I held them in my hand before I slipped a hand down to my stomach, finding nothing there, but knowing something was.  
  
“I think we’re gonna be okay, little one. I think we’re going to be okay.”


	6. Sol #21 (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn’t all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn’t go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection…but Mark Watney won’t settle for that. (Based on the book and movie ‘The Martian’ by Andy Weir)

_Now, as I said before, instead of being a 30 year old guy of average build, on an uninhabited planet, all alone and barely able to survive, I was now a /pregnant/ 30 year old guy of average build on an uninhabited planet, all alone and barely able to survive. Also, I had only enough food by my calculations to last 300 Sols (roughly 309 days in Earth time), but that’s only if I wasn’t pregnant.  
  
Now I’ve found out I am, I need a lot of food to keep me healthy enough, but also the baby. I couldn’t not eat. However, now that I had found the potatoes stowed away for Thanksgiving (making me by the looks of it due around June, hey, that rhymed!), I had an idea…_  
  
HABjournal  
  
 **LOGIN**  
  
 **USER:** mark.watney  
  
 **PASSWORD:** ********  
  
“Right, let’s do the math.” I said to the tiny camera that I found myself sitting in front of once again. Gotta show those future astronauts I didn’t just lay about while I was here, wait till they hear the bombshell I’m about to drop on them. “Our surface mission here was supposed to last 31 sols. For redundancy, they sent 68 sols worth of food. That’s for 6 people. So for just me and me alone, that’s gonna last 300 sols.” I sighed as I looked into the camera.  
  
Here we go.  
  
“It’s not just me anymore, however.” I breathed out. “While analysing my fecal matter, I found my hCG levels were higher than normal.” Now, in order to get into NASA, I did have to tell them about my Zoriha’s Disorder. So they knew. Also, Martinez and the crew knew, Beck knew the most however, as he was the one prescribing my birth control medication.  
  
“So, in a whim, I went and...well, did what every college girl does after having sex and...I found out I was pregnant.” I paused for a moment, giving it time to sink in as it hadn’t really sunk in as much earlier as it did now. “I...I’m about a month along, but that’s not important.”  
  
I got back to the original subject before I broke. “Anyway, like I said, if it was just me, the food would last 300 sols, which I figure I could have stretched to 400 if I rationed. But considering it’s not just me anymore that needs it, that number is significantly shortened by I’m not sure just how much. I’ll have to figure it out later.”  
  
As I ate a peanut ( _I’d opened a packet earlier from a craving for peanut butter_ ), I kept talking. “So, knowing I don’t have enough food, I got to figure out a way to grow three years worth of food here to keep me and this baby going, on a planet where nothing grows. Luckily, - “ I reached over and grabbed my briefing folder, holding it up to the camera. “I’m a botanist.” I got up from my seat after putting the folder back down. “Mars will come to fear my botany powers.”  
  
Doning a spare suit and a operational bio monitor, I went outside to acquire what I needed to grow these potatoes. To grow a plant, you need oxygen, water and sunlight. They all need to be in equal amounts, because otherwise, the plants won’t grow. Too much oxygen, the plant doesn't grow. Too much sunlight, it wilts and dies. Too much water, it drowns.  
  
I was going to have to figure out how to make sunlight, water and soil inside the HAB in order to grow these potatoes. Easier said than done.  
  
I already knew what I was going to use for soil, human waste. The toilet NASA designed to get rid of our shit, in a nutshell, vacuumed it out of the toilet, sealed it up in a bag and deposited it in a container behind the toilet block itself. I knew I was going to need a lot of it and when I got there and opened the hatch, it was pretty much filled to the top with these silver bags with my crew’s and my name on them. Score. I gathered them up and took them inside.  
  
One job done, four to go. We’re on our way, kid.


	7. Sol #22-#24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark Watney spent a year and a half on Mars trying to survive till someone could rescue him. When that happened, the media and NASA proclaimed him an American hero, but that wasn’t all there was to the story. The true story about how one man with wit and potatoes on Mars didn’t go mad is hidden away in NASA for their own protection…but Mark Watney won’t settle for that. (Based on the book and movie ‘The Martian’ by Andy Weir)

After a good night’s sleep ( _well, not really, you can’t sleep on a bunk that well after all_ ), I started getting back to work. Potatoes are not going to grow themselves.  
  
Phase II, as I had gone to name them, was to find sunlight. Now, I knew I couldn’t cut the lining of the HAB or otherwise, me and this baby would be dead, to get natural sunlight, but I would figure out a way and that way, was solar panels. We had solar panels that powered the HAB before the generator was brought it, so I decided to see if they still worked when Sol 22 rolled around.   
  
During the storm, some of them had been knocked over, but I managed to get them back upright and in position with little difficulty. ( _I know I shouldn’t have been doing this in my condition, but come on, people! Who else was going to do it? God?_ )  
  
When I checked them over, they were all covered in dust. That was easily fixed with some CO2 canisters that came with them to clean them off. There were several, but I only needed 2 to clean off most of the dust. They had to be clean or otherwise, they wouldn’t pick up the sunlight and guess what? No potatoes.  
  
Now, Phase III, find somewhere to put these, at the moment, mythical potatoes.  
  
In the middle of the HAB was a storage area, full of samples, equipment, boxes, you know, important stuff. However, samples in boxes did not help my plight at the moment, so I decided to get rid of the them from this specific area and find somewhere else for them later.  
  
Unfortunately, because I’m so stupid, I failed to realize I was working myself too hard and on Sol 22 when I came back inside, my stomach gave out trying to fight the growing process of this baby and one of the staples I had clipped into my lower stomach gave way and came out. It hurt like hell, but it couldn’t be helped.   
  
Soon enough, the other three I’d put in place came out over the course of Sol 23 as I got more stuff together and started to make a  environment to hopefully grow these plants, it didn’t bother me much, but I knew it most likely would later.  
  
By the time Sol 24 rolled around, I was halfway there. I finished duct taping plastic to the HAB’s structural support so I covered the whole area I had cleared out in plastic in preparation for the soil and potatoes. Phase IV complete.   
  
Though I was feeling short of breath, I went outside and started to initiate Phase V, which was dig up and carry in boxes of Mars’s sand like surface to use as part of the soil. ( _It was times like these, I reflect, that I honestly felt lonely. I mean, looking out over the horizon of Mars, you see nothing but red. It’s a rather crushing feeling, if i had to explain it today._ )  
  
It wore me out to the point that I had to rest every so often, I pretty much drained most of the liquid I had stored in the HAB with the food to keep me going. At that point, the phase ‘Fuck you, Mars.’ had become predominant in my vocabulary, despite me being pregnant and knowing the baby could hear me.   
  
( _In retrospect, again, I should have predicted that my baby’s first word was going to be a swear word, but I didn’t. Martinez and I got a kick out of it when it did happen, though_ ).  
  
There was still a lot more work to do though before I could rest properly though, I still needed to mix the soil properly, so I’d better get started.   
  
It was going to be a long night.


End file.
